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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166491">warm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/datetheplants/pseuds/datetheplants'>datetheplants</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming Out, Dyslexia, M/M, Modern AU, Modern Newsies, albert likes knitting, ralbert au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:29:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/datetheplants/pseuds/datetheplants</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Race's expression had softened and Albert saw the most of it in his eyes because it was where he was looking at. It's just blue, blue, blue, and blue.</p><p>(Or the one where Finch is a ghost, Race can see him, and Albert learns how to knit.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>warm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It starts off with something akin to a horrible rendition of Rapunzel.</p><p>Like this: Albert DaSilva, age 17, throwing pebbles at the closed window on the second floor of a seemingly peaceful home whose family is supposed to be getting a decent amount of sleep. Said window has bright green curtains with white stars on them. It's terribly unpleasing to the eye, especially at broad daylight but Albert DaSilva who is already familiar with the cloth can picture it in the dark and even with his eyes closed. A curse, one would say.</p><p>And this: the curtains open first, showing an annoyed face despite with their eyes still halfway closed. The window does open and a pebble comes flying in with a hushed but frantic “oh shit!” accompanying it from the 17-year-old below. Jack Kelly ducks and disappears from the window as they dodge the pebble.</p><p>Also, this: the ghost of an eighteen-year-old sleeping on a branch of the tree in the yard. Finch, as he likes to be called, doesn't actually sleep but what else was he supposed to do? Haunting is a lifestyle he has not chosen. It's important to note that there is no ghost in Rapunzel but that's neither here or there.</p><p>Then this: Jack resurfaces, no doubt scowling but they leave just as Albert was about to say something. No worries there, though, because another face appears. Enter Antonio Higgins, hair a mess and red lines on one side of his face. He's also known as “Racetrack”, “Racer”, and “Race”. He is the one who can see the ghosts.</p><p>(It would be quite frightening to turn in your sleep and see someone perched on the tree in your yard but that's already old news for Race and he has since then resorted to demanding Finch to pay rent. Finch, in turn, throws him a wad of bills that disappears. Ghost money.)</p><p>Now this: Albert is cut off again when Race disappears. The window closes, followed by the god-awful curtains. He cannot see the ghost up on the tree (or any ghost for that matter) but he knows Finch must be snickering at him.</p><p>(Finch has his eyes still closed but he <em>is</em> snickering.)</p><p>It wasn't how Albert expected his night would go. So much for a Rapunzel-inspired scene.</p><p>The door opened.</p><p>To be honest, he is getting a whiplash with the turn of events.</p><p>“You couldn't just text or call?” grumbled Jack at the doorway.</p><p>Albert walked past them. “As if you would have answered your phone.”</p><p>The door closed behind them and Jack proceeded to drop down on the couch. No further movements. Albert climbed up the stairs quietly and headed straight towards the last door on the left which is wide open. Albert saw Race before he even stepped inside.</p><p>“You could have said hello,” he said as he nudged the other on his bed to move.</p><p>“There’s a whole other bed there, Al,” whined Race even though he's moving anyway.</p><p>Albert dumped his bag on the floor and plopped down next to him, making himself comfortable which becomes difficult as time passes because they are both growing and they are, unsurprisingly, still awkward with their limbs.</p><p>“Where’s my hello?” continued Albert, tapping at Race's side. “I’ve been gone for almost a whole week.”</p><p>Race was almost slurring his words as he spoke. “Hi, Albert. Welcome back. We were literally just messaging each other an hour ago when you were almost on the way home.”</p><p>“I fell asleep halfway.”</p><p>“Me too. You didn't have to come all the way here, Albie. You should have rested. It was a long drive.”</p><p>“I’m not the one who drove, though. I wanted to give you something.”</p><p>At that, Race turns to him, elbowing Albert accidentally and there's a whole struggling on a bed too small for them before they finally settle, limbs even more tangled that with one move, it is likely that either one of them could be slapped in the face.</p><p>“What is it?” asked Race, sounding more awake than he did a few minutes ago.</p><p>“It's not much,” replied Albert. “It’s just something I thought you would like. I mean, it's practical. <em>I'm</em> the practical one between the two of us but you know… <em>we're </em>practical. I'm not making any sense, am I?”</p><p>Race let out a small smile. “You’re doing great, Albie. I like everything you give.”</p><p>It sounded greasy but Albert has been getting used to it because he's constantly realizing that Antonio Higgins is just an honest person.</p><p>He reached behind him (with difficulty, mind you) and opened the flap of his bag, feeling for what he is looking for. He pulled it out, the wrapper crumpling in his grip. It was just six pages from an old magazine taped together because when he tried the newspaper, it ripped easily and he didn't have any box.</p><p>He handed the present to Race.</p><p>“Thanks, Albie,” said the other with a smile. “I’ll open it now.”</p><p>“You’re not allowed to laugh,” cut in Albert. “It’s ugly.”</p><p>“Stop disrespecting my present.”</p><p>“<em>I </em>gave it to you.”</p><p>“<em>I’m </em>receiving it. No hate parties on gifts.”</p><p>“Fine, open it.”</p><p>Albert's sure that there are already tears on the wrapper and it looked like it was sat on. Still, Race was careful until one end of a scarf slid out.</p><p>“I’ve been working on it for a while,” mumbled Albert. “You were always complaining of being cold.”</p><p>Knitting was hard, he had to admit but it helped him focus. It gave him something to work on and his grandmother, Nana, even joined him a couple of times. He thought he might give it up but once he was halfway and as Race kept on complaining about the cold, Albert continued to knit.</p><p>The scarf was blue. He had picked the shade that was the closest to the color of Race's eyes. While the knitting took at least three months because there <em>were</em> frustrating moments, finding the right color of the wool took him a month. JoJo even tagged along with him to search and offer moral support. It was impossible to find something exactly as the color of Race's eyes.</p><p>“Do you like it?” he asked, timidly as he blinked up at the neon stars stuck on the ceiling.</p><p>Race held his gift in his hands, feeling the material and turning it over. He got to one of the ends and inspected it closely.</p><p>“The flower's pretty,” he murmured but Albert heard the words clearly.</p><p>His grandmother helped to do it.</p><p>She had asked: <em>“Is this for Antonio Higgins?”</em></p><p>He simply nodded. She hummed with a knowing look on her face as she proceeded to teach him how to embroider the flower. Later on, she had to help him untangle the yarn from his hands because he had been playing with it the whole time.</p><p>Two white petals, two grey petals, and two purple petals. They were all outlined with a black yarn. He knows the colors would not probably match with the blue and he was not sure if Race would like them to be there. In the end, he let them stay.</p><p>The scarf was in his closet for another month.</p><p>On the way to Race's house earlier, he had been practicing how he's going to give the gift.</p><p>“Hey, Albie.”</p><p>He doesn't look, finds it difficult to.</p><p>Then, there are fingers holding on to his, interrupting their tapping on Race's pillow.</p><p>“I told you,” spoke Race. “I like everything you give.”</p><p>It eases something in him and he squeezes Race's fingers before letting go and turning on his side, facing Jack's empty bed.</p><p>“Night,” he whispers.</p><p>“Night,” Race whispers back.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After the weekend, Race comes to school wearing the scarf and his nose is still red from the cold but he swears he feels warm. He wears it throughout the day, even in his classes, and Sarah, who is a year older, tells them that the scarf and the flower on it looks lovely.</p><p>Race thanks her with a big smile and adds that Albert knitted it for him.</p><p>Albert shrugs and turns to his locker to arrange his books again.</p><p>Finch, who is leaning on the next locker, sighs and says, “I want one too.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Did he like it?” his grandmother asked as she worked on a bonnet across from him.</p><p>Albert glanced at her. “What?”</p><p>“Did Antonio like the scarf? You never told me how it went down.”</p><p>How it went down? There should be some grand story but there wasn't and he told as such to his grandmother who put down her knitting and listened. He recounted to her how he practiced his lines on the way to Race's house, how he 'knocked on the door’ and Jack answered and then he went to their room. He told her how he gave the present and how Race still has the neon stars that they stuck on his ceiling when they were thirteen.</p><p>He told her that Race thought the flower was pretty.</p><p>His grandmother smiled. “So, he does like it.”</p><p>“He said he likes anything I give him,” he mumbled.</p><p>“I know, love. He told me the same thing last time he came over to check up on me. It was when you were at your dad's last week.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Albert goes back to his homework.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“What’s that?” Race whispered to him.</p><p>Albert continued to stare at the embroidered whale, pressing on the little bumps with his thumbs. He has long discarded the math exercises given to them. The substitute teacher arrived and moved through a lesson quite quickly that Albert had trouble catching up. He wasn't good with the subject, he had to admit but he often tried his best. Today just wasn't one of those days.</p><p>A hand patted his shoulder and he looked up.</p><p>“What's that you got there?” asked Race.</p><p>“Nana was working on it last night,” replied Albert. “Told me I could take it.”</p><p>He had come down to the living room in the middle of the night to drink some water when he found his grandmother still awake. She was sitting in her armchair with the television playing some late night show. Albert drank his water and padded off to Nana, seeing that she was embroidering on a piece of light green fabric Albert suspects came from one of her old dresses. He fell asleep on the couch and woke up the next morning to Nana's work left on the coffee table. She had embroidered a little garden with a yellow whale at the top right corner, like the sun in every child's drawing.</p><p>“It looks cool,” remarked Race. “You could sew that on a shirt.”</p><p>Finch looks over their shoulders. “On a bag looks cooler.”</p><p>“But you got to have a cool bag, though.”</p><p>“The patch will make it cool. Keep up, Racetrack.”</p><p>It has become normal to hear Race talk to the 'air'. Sometimes, he doesn't know what he and Finch are clearly talking about but he can guess by just following the trail of Race's answers. Albert glanced up again when he heard the other huff.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” he asked.</p><p>“Finch is being mean again,” said Race. “Anyway, he said you should sew it on a bag. He thinks it would look cooler.”</p><p>Albert shrugged. “I like it like this.”</p><p>“It looks cool either way, Al.”</p><p>Something heavy fell on the floor and Race sighed as everyone turned to look behind them.</p><p>“What was that?” asked the substitute teacher from the front.</p><p>It was Finch and he had dropped a history book, one of his attempts to see if he could carry, much less touch, an object. So far, both Albert and Race have seen pillows levitate and a blanket being dragged outside to the yard until it ended up on Finch's tree.</p><p>“Oops,” he muttered and didn't look one bit sorry.</p><p>Race sighed again and got up to retrieve the book from the floor. The class went back to doing their exercises.</p><p>Albert glanced at Race's paper. The first half is already done, all numbers and just calculations Race has scribbled a bit messily. The second half wasn't touched yet. The problems were in words, each having a long paragraph that Albert wonders why there needs to be a story. He thought it was ridiculous.</p><p>“It’s confusing,” spoke Race as he settled back beside Albert. “Just a little.”</p><p>There was something nagging at the back of his head that it was not <em>little.</em> Albert knew Race always had problems when it comes to words. It took months before the faculty considered adjusting the spacing, size, and style of the font they use whenever they hand out activities or exams. It was a big change all the same but it was still difficult for Race.</p><p>Albert picks up his pen, reads one paragraph after the other and turns the words into numbers.</p><p>“Thanks, Albie,” says Race, softly.</p><p>When he's done, he glances back at his Nana's work and presses gently on its details.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>His grandmother is asleep on the couch after promising to finish the series she has been putting off for a whole month now.</p><p>“Stop kidding yourself, Nana,” is what he had said.</p><p>The reply he got was: “I can and I will.”</p><p>She was only ten minutes in before she was completely out of it.</p><p>Albert began knitting, taking out three colors of wool from Nana's basket. Blue, white and pink.</p><p>It was a complicated process, his grandmother said so and because he's a beginner, he found himself agreeing. Nana told him that sometimes she will cross over the wrong parts, loop through them and tangle them even further that she has to restart all over again. Sometimes, she becomes impatient that she has to set her knitting aside because her head starts to hurt too much. Sometimes, she finishes her knitting and it doesn't look like the way she pictured it. Still, she keeps it.</p><p>It's not perfect but she's proud of it.</p><p>See, his gift for Race took months to make and that is a long time to ensure that he didn't mess it up but if one would look closer, there were parts where the wool was either strained too much or not pulled securely enough. Albert thought it was not fit for a present, even when he finished it but then they were walking home after school, hands stuffed inside the pockets of their jackets and pressing close together to ward off the cold.</p><p>“I’m asexual,” Race had said.</p><p>And Albert had glanced at him, turned just in time to see the puff of breath that came out of the other. It <em>was</em> cold but he thought that exhale was more out of relief of finally saying something one has been keeping.</p><p>“That’s okay,” he had replied, his own breath visible as he spoke. “You’re still Race.”</p><p>Race's expression had softened and Albert saw the most of it in his eyes because it was where he was looking at. It's just blue, blue, blue, and <em>blue. </em></p><p>And he thought of the scarf still in his closet, not at all perfect.</p><p>“Why is it so cold?” whined Race. “I think there's some kind of snow cloud above me. Finch, stop jabbing your finger in my ear!”</p><p>Albert thought of blue, blue, blue, and <em>blue. </em></p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He's often told to be careful, especially when he was younger. There's also added weight to the reminder because he and Race are usually together and them being in the same room just spells out chaotic.</p><p>Now that they are slightly older, they have just gotten better at making sure they don't get caught.</p><p>It's not like being up on a tree is one of the worst things they have done.</p><p>(Okay, maybe Albert has fallen once and injured his arm. Race had cried. They were eleven.)</p><p>He settles on the branch where Race had said Finch usually stays up on.</p><p>“Sorry,” he spoke as he held a scarf in his hands. “I know it doesn't look that good. I'm still learning.”</p><p>Finch, who is sitting right across from him, smiles. “It's the best gift, Al.”</p><p>If he could cry, he would have at that moment.</p><p>Albert carefully tied the scarf around the branch, wary that he'll ruin it. It took about a whole month to finish it. His grandmother said that he has been getting better and quicker because it's not easy to knit a whole scarf with three colors. Albert was just worried about them having even parts. He managed it, more or less.</p><p>“No hate parties on gifts,” was Race's firm statement when he arrived earlier.</p><p>“It’s not even yours,” argued Albert.</p><p>“Point still stands and it is valid.”</p><p>“I hope that snow cloud follows you wherever you go.”</p><p>“Take that back!”</p><p>And so he climbed up the tree with the scarf and Finch swore right then and there that no other ghost would claim his branch.</p><p>“Hey, DaSilva!”</p><p>They both turned to see who it was.</p><p>Oscar Delancey, walking by the house and looking smug. He doesn't look like he's slowing down to taunt, not when Jack is somewhere inside the house.</p><p>Albert sighed. “Shut up, Oscar.”</p><p>“What’s with the colors?” called the other. “They look ugly.”</p><p>Then he fastened his pace, looking even more smug. As for Albert and Finch – well, it must have been a coincidence that they shouted the same thing.</p><p>“Trans lives matter, asshat!”</p><p>Oscar doesn't look back and Finch shouts a few more things that Albert doesn't hear. Race does and it's why he comes out of the house with a concerned look on his face.</p><p>“What’s going on?” he asked.</p><p>Albert frowned. “Delancey.”</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah. He was just saying dumb things.”</p><p>Finch huffs and turns back to his scarf. “I should have joined haunting.”</p><p>They all know if given the chance, he wouldn’t.</p><p>Albert climbs down from the tree and it’s not that high but Race waits at the bottom.</p><p>It’s too soon to say how this will end as anyone who is familiar with Albert and Race knows that it’s impossible to determine where their bond starts and where it ends (or if it will (it won’t)) but they know it continues to cross, loop, and meet through and through. The start from that failed Rapunzel-inspired night may not have been <em>the </em>start, after all.</p><p>This is not the end as well but their story continues like this: Albert and Race sitting beneath the shade of Finch’s beloved tree. Said ghost is up on his branch with his new scarf and even though there are only a few gifted people who can recognize his existence, he thinks he has never felt more <em>seen</em> than he has now.</p><p>Also, this: Race sighing and turning to Albert to say, “You should teach me how to knit sometime, Albie.”</p><p>And Albert meets his gaze and sees blue, blue, blue, and <em>blue</em>.</p><p>“Only if you change your curtains,” he sighed in return.</p><p>“What’s wrong with my curtains?” demanded Race.</p><p>“Jack calls it an eyesore.”</p><p>“Why do you think I even use it in the first place?”</p><p>It’s cold but they spend the day like that, pressed close against each other and laughing and talking and feeling blue, blue, blue, and <em>blue.</em></p><p> </p>
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